


The Many Ways to Drown

by A_Fine_Piece



Series: A Thin Red Line [46]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Betrayal, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prostitution, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24379732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Fine_Piece/pseuds/A_Fine_Piece
Summary: [Prior to the beginning of the series] Hisana attends an event and comes face-to-face with Byakuya's betrothed.
Relationships: Kuchiki Byakuya/Kuchiki Hisana
Series: A Thin Red Line [46]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/93946
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	The Many Ways to Drown

Scarlet silks drip off her petite frame. The kimono is a more modern cut than what Hisana is used to wearing. The lines of the garment nip close to her hips before flaring at her ankles. The excess of the oily silk pools around her feet, shimmering like a mermaid's tail tossing sunbeams at hapless sailors.

Hisana _hates_ to admit it, but the kimono is a work of art. The fibers are so finely spun that they glisten, inviting the light to skip from one strand to the next. The color is so vibrant that all else looks ashen in comparison.

The beauty of the silk, however, is easily bested by the ornate hand-painted landscape that wraps around her.

No question about it.

Gold cranes with wings held wide in flight stretch across her shoulders. Their feathers dust her collar and sweep over her right hip. In the language of the art, the crane's gold wings have caused the silvery plum blossoms to scatter like snow across her chest and along the hems of her sleeves. Some of the blossoms have been cast into the silvery blue stream that runs from the bottom of her obi to the puddle of silk collecting at her feet. The transitions of color used for the stream won't let go of her attention. The subtle shifts in blue and silver remind Hisana of the saturated watercolors sold by the merchants who line the path to the kabuki theater.

It must have taken _years_ to construct this dress. Years to learn how to spin such delicate silk. Years to perfect the art of the yūzen method. And, yet, she would wear this kimono for mere moments and likely never again.

 _Such a pity_ , she thinks before tearing her attention away from the watery blossom grave to focus on Yua's progress with her hair.

Long inky strands curl around Yua's arm as she tries to draw a perfect part with the end of a comb. Yua's focus is intense: Her brows knit together, her tongue pokes out the side of her mouth, and she does not stop once under the weight of Hisana's stare.

"Lord Tadahiro prefers my hair looser," says Hisana, voice gentle but firm, and she frowns.

The lord's name sears her tongue, and her stomach feels like quicksand, sinking and shifting, at the thought of the Konoe lord.

He is a wily man who prefers the thrill of the chase, but Hisana very much suspects that he does not linger on the quarry once caught. For him, she plays the role of the fox, clever and more valuable alive than dead. And, _yet_ , she knows that this ruse cannot last. Keeping a man guessing after six years is almost impossible.

 _But_ …

She frowns. A sour taste fills her mouth at the next observation.

 _But, the thrill of the chase likely pales in comparison to the thrill of taking something away from a rival_.

"This pin is so lovely," coos Yua.

Hisana stiffens. She doesn't have to look to know which kanzashi Yua balances on the tips of her fingers. It is the red cherry blossom hairpin, the tiered streamer spilling from the girl's small palm.

"I don't remember seeing this before." Yua's gaze darts to Hisana in the mirror.

"A gift."

Yua grins widely, revealing the gaps of her missing baby teeth. Her brown eyes glitter, reflecting the flickering lantern light. "Do you get gifts regularly, Sister?"

_Sister._

The word pierces Hisana in a rare moment.

Hisana and Yua are not sisters by blood, but by burden.

Still, the word pricks her at times, like right then.

Struck by Yua's lanky arms and awkward childish grace, Hisana's mind flies to her actual sister. Pain stings her, everywhere and all at once.

"Regularly enough," comes Hisana's belated answer. She pushes the electric snapping of neurons down, pretends it's not there, writhing like eels in the deep.

Excitement sprawls across Yua's face.

Hisana doesn't remember being as young as Yua is now. Maybe she never was that young. But, she doesn't rebuke the girl for her misplaced exuberance. The thought of owning something, _anything_ , probably feels like a dream to an orphan who has not even a parent to call their own.

"Do you get to pick the gifts?" Yua asks, twisting sections of Hisana's hair around the end of the comb.

Hisana responds with a little shake of her head. "Our desires are never expressed. We are what they want. So, when our patron selects a gift for us, it is best that they select the one that gives them the most joy to see."

Yua's smile fades at this lesson, and a small wrinkle forms between her dark brows. "Does that mean that Lord Konoe gave you the pin?"

Hisana's eyes dive into her lap. The question is a fair one. She is Lord Konoe's guest tonight at the Celebration of the Arts, but there are simple pleasures that one must take for herself. This concept, however, instantly feels too abstract, too contradictory, to put to words for little Yua's benefit.

"Yes," Hisana lies through a breezy smile, catching Yua's gaze in the mirror.

"Such good taste," Yua remarks, eyes darting back down to the section of hair that she teases roughly with the comb.

An icy chill blasts down her spine at Yua's innocent compliment.

"Someday I hope to have such a distinguished patron," Yua continues, her soprano voice trilling at the imagined conquest.

Hisana doesn't repress the frown that slopes the corners of her lips. Her eyes search the roundness of her little sister's face. Yua is too young to fully understand the price that such tokens of affection demand. She is too tender to know how quickly hope and expectation give way, thrashing like the waves during a storm, until you find yourself drowning in them. Unable to find the surface. Unable to take a breath that isn't heavy and thin.

Hisana never wants to become so hopeless. Yet, as she lingers on the simple beauty of the kanzashi, she fears she won't be able to resist the call to drown.

The style that Yua fashions is loose, simpler in comparison to the newer oiran. Besides the red cherry blossom pin, Yua has restrained herself and selected two others: a plain ebony comb used to keep the top section of the bun secure and a jade dragonfly hairpin, which Tadahiro gave Hisana many years ago, that keeps the bottom section in place.

For a finishing touch, Yua pins a few kikyo blossoms close to Hisana's left ear.

"Are you calling me odd?" Hisana teases, quirking a brow at the girl's choice of flower.

Yua's eyes widen for a moment, and a pink flush creeps across her cheeks. "Oh, no, no, Sister," she stammers, "it's just a popular flower this time of year." The tremor in her voice steadies once she locks eyes with Hisana, who smiles gently at her. "Also, it's Lord Kuchiki's favorite," Yua offers, glancing downward bashfully.

The smile on Hisana's lips dies. "I'm Lord Konoe's guest tonight," she reminds Yua.

Yua steals a knowing glance. "Yes, but, Lord Kuchiki is—"

Hisana waits, gaze narrowing. "Lord Kuchiki is, what?" she tries desperately to keep the words mild, but the edge is sharp enough to flay flesh from bone.

Yua's brows bunch together, and she grimaces. "He's so esteemed and strong, and he-" She inhales a tremulous breath. "And, despite his strength and power, he never leaves you harmed."

Hisana turns to her little sister, and she braces the girl with a gentle hand. She didn't realize how much Yua had seen, how much the girl was paying attention. "True strength and power don't need to do harm to prove itself."

"I know." Yua's eyes blink open, and she gives a weak nod of her head.

"And, you don't need to accept a man's visit ever, if he brings you harm."

Another weak nod of Yua's head tells Hisana that she hears the advice, but Hisana's poor example convinces her otherwise. "He is also very handsome," Yua murmurs, a sly grin thinning her lips.

Hisana presses her lips together, attempting to smother the urge to smile, but she can't. Nor does she stifle the small chuckle that breaks the tension in the room with ease.

. . . .

The Celebration of the Arts is in full swing when Hisana arrives at the townhouse set a few blocks from the kabuki district. No escort. No procession. The only extravagance she allows herself is the one demanded of her, the scarlet kimono.

Tadahiro made clear in his request that she was his _guest_ , not his consort. Now, there are many ways to read such a request. Hisana decided to interpret his invitation to mean that his wife would be in attendance for the evening, and, while the noblewomen were almost always aware of their husbands' predilections when they spent time in the Floating World, the noblewomen took _priority_ as wives.

Marriage is a duty, after all.

Tonight is no different. The Konoe, like the other Noble Houses, are patrons of the arts. Their chosen contribution to the event? An extensive kimono collection.

The collection always changes. Not that Hisana has had the luxury of attending the exhibit until now. For the last few years, her service to the Chambers always seemed to correspond with this particular festival.

Reaching the entrance to the townhouse, Hisana barely has the chance to fish the gold embossed invitation from a fold in her obi before the guard's eyes light with recognition. He waves her on with a knowing grin.

Hisana bows her head benignly, not quite sure what to _make_ of the guard's predatory stare.

Inside the townhouse, the dulcet plucking of the koto marry with the sweet smell of incense. The melody sounds deeper and the smell more pungent in the heat of summer. The house is larger than it appears from the street. A winding labyrinth of corridors and sliding doors, most of which are open to reveal cavernous rooms with kimono set out on headless mannequins or spread in T-shapes on hangers. The dresses are well-lit with little lamps that do not appear to burn oil for fuel. The rest of the house, however, crawls with shadows ranging the spectrum of burnt sienna, deep umbers, and sepia.

Nobles and wealthy merchants, hooded in the gathering shadows of the halls, clump together on the periphery of the rooms and outside the doors. Hisana pays little attention to the threads of murmured confidences she hears as she sweeps through one set of rooms to the nearby passageway.

A hallway that no one has thought to cross gives her a view into two separate rooms, each containing three kimono.

Hisana hugs her chest, her gaze skating over the kimono in the left room. A deeper look reveals a theme between the rooms: The left room contains three headless glass mannequins donning the storm-cloud grays and midnight-blues of groomswear. All three kimono bear the Konoe family kamon, four stylized hollyhocks set in a circle. In the next room, she finds three bridal kimono, all white. All with intricate white embroidery.

Hisana cannot make out the patterns on the bridal kimono from the hall, but, before she can cross to the room where they are set, a strange pressure against her shoulder prevents her from taking another step forward. Her heart thuds to a stop, and she inhales a quick breath.

_She's trapped. Worse, she's unprepared._

Her eyes slip shut, and she sews together the pieces of her tattered resolve. The ensuing stillness invites the familiar stranger closer. The point of his chin digs deeper into the bony perturbance of her clavicle.

Bergamot and sandalwood unmask the stranger's identity just as readily as the sound of his voice, "I never figured you for a traditionalist, Hisana."

His breath, warm and moist, ghosts over her throat, like a necklace of rope.

She tilts her head back. "There is a beauty in the simplicity of tradition, no?"

He presses closer, and Hisana flutters slightly at the bristly sensation of his beard against her skin. "If by simplicity, you mean dullness, then yes. There is a dullness in rote predictability."

"I believe milord protests too much." A smirking grin curls a corner of her mouth. "Why else would he instruct the wedding attire be displayed if he did not have a particular fondness for them?"

She feels his lips lengthen against her skin. "There _is a reason_ why they're all the way in the back."

Hisana's smirk widens into a genuine smile as she considers the riddle imbued in his meaning. He isn't protesting her conclusion that he instructed his manservants to set out the three sets of wedding attire. And, if she was asked to make a wager, Hisana would bet that the three sets correspond to one another. Three marriages. Likely, the three marriages of the last three leaders of the Konoe, with the kimono beginning on the right belonging to Tadahiro and his wife, respectively.

"I never fancied milord _sentimental_ ," she surmises.

This retort earns her a kiss pressed against the back of her neck, right above the collar of her kimono. "You found me out. Now, _my turn_."

Hisana shifts in his arms at the challenge he has set for himself.

She doesn't like where there is going. Especially since her decision to wander down this _unfortunate_ corridor was to be _discreet_. If the guard realized who she was, no telling who else might have recognized her, even here in a dimly lit house.

Her fear rises even more when she feels his index finger loop under her chin. Carefully, he nudges her face to the right, and he stops. The silence that follows drips with expectation.

At first, she doesn't catch his meaning. All she sees are shadowy fingers creeping up the rice paper walls. Then, the thunderclap hits and panic crowds her.

_Lord Byakuya._

Her breath hitches in her chest.

At his side is a beautiful woman. She wears a navy kimono with a simple pattern of paulownia at the shoulder. Her raven hair is up in a tidy, sleek bun with a few hairpins, all silver, and all dangling. Hisana can hear their soft chiming with each bobbing movement she makes.

This woman isn't a member of his family. If she had been a simple cousin, she would have been donning a kimono with the Kuchiki's house kamon or the flowers associated with the Sixth division's insignia, a camellia. The woman also isn't a member of the Sixth division.

No, Hisana knows instantly that the rosy-cheeked woman tugging at his sleeve is his betrothed. Judging by the paulownia embroidered on her shoulder, the lady heralds from the Heishi family. Hisana knows little of the Heishi, as the male members are rumored to patronize Okuni's house, but she knows there is one Heishi lady of marrying age, the lovely Lady Suiko Heishi.

Tadahiro adjusts his chin on her shoulder, and Hisana can feel the prickle of heat from his gaze against her cheek. She feels him watching her intently, like a hound sniffing for blood.

She must have mastered her surprise well enough for him to employ his next tactic against her.

"She'll make a beautiful _bride_ , won't she?" The heat of his whispered question sends a bolt of electricity shooting down Hisana's spine.

Every muscle and tendon in her body locks, squeezing hard against the urge to shiver. Mastering her internal horror, Hisana inclines her head just enough to peer down at Tadahiro. In a rare moment, he has exposed himself to her, and, given his teasing, she takes the opportunity to show him the error of his ways.

"Not _half_ as lovely as _Lady Konoe_ was, I'm sure," Hisana whispers back. Her soft violet eyes study him, waiting for the spark of recognition to send the shadows that line his face aflutter.

Part of her wants to ask him where his wife was, wants to twist the knife deeper.

The other, more prudent part of her, knows that it won't work. Tadahiro is nothing if not shameless.

He retorts with a mocking smirk, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Touché, Hisana." He presses a kiss to the top of her head. "Touché," he repeats the word, the heat of his body receding as he pulls away.

His sudden absence has the unexpected effect of setting the bottom section of her scalp ablaze. Before Hisana can react, she feels the fall of her hair tumbling down her shoulders. Her fingers twist around the cascading strands, and she searches him.

Carelessly, he threads her jade dragonfly pin through his fingers. "Seems that I'm not alone in my sentimentality." His eyes gleam like wet stones when they catch hers.

Her lips twitch. She is unable to summon the placating smile she knows he is expecting. All she can offer is a wintry stare.

Tadahiro studies her for a long moment, intentions just as unfathomable as his expression is inscrutable. His lean body slants closer to her, and he dips his head down. His breath heats the shell of her ear. "I will melt that frost of yours, Hisana." He rocks back, watching her just as carefully as before.

She offers him a wry smile and tilts her head demurely to the side. "Milord judges my affections too harshly."

"Not at all," he chuckles. "I just want all of your affections for myself." His gaze flickers to the couple down the hall.

Hisana stiffens, heart quaking in her chest.

Briefly, she imagines Tadahiro calling the Kuchiki lord and his betrothed to them. She imagines him peppering them with banal questions. _When will the nuptials take place? Where will you wed? Do you have plans to go somewhere after?_ And she imagines having to ignore the crack of her heart breaking as the beautiful Suiko answers each question with dutiful enthusiasm.

Tadahiro's gaze, however, is fleeting. Returning his attention to Hisana, he presses the hairpin against her palm. Keeping her hand securely in his, he brings her knuckles to his lips and kisses them sweetly. "Before you leave, you should view my private collection."

He nods his head in the direction of the door behind the groomswear. It is one of the few doors that hasn't been retracted back. "I think you will like what you find."

Hisana forces a polite smile, one that does not light her eyes, but one that appears to satisfy him all the same. His touch falls away, and he begins down the hall to the young Kuchiki Lord.

She lingers in the hallway for a few moments longer, catching the beginning volley of pleasantries between the lords of House Konoe and House Kuchiki. As Hisana imagined, Suiko dutifully smiles and bows her head. She captures Tadahiro's attention without hesitation. Batting her large eyes and blushing like a schoolgirl.

Byakuya, however, appears remote, lost in thought. His gray gaze reaches out beyond both Tadahiro and Suiko. Searching for something. Something of use.

Fearful that Byakuya will discover her presence, Hisana edges closer into the corridor behind her. She is too slow. His gray eyes latch onto her, pulling at the strings of her attention.

Hisana, however, doesn't stop her retreat. She doesn't look back. She can't. To return his gaze would be perilous. Disastrous, even.

A private heat stings her cheeks, and, silently, she rebukes herself for being caught gawking. But, it isn't quite _gawking_ that was being done moments ago. It was something far worse.

It was nothing less than emotional torture. She was cutting herself with a thousand glances. A dark part of her wants to bleed her stupid heart dry, to kill it. Even if doing so causes her immeasurable pain.

But, now isn't the time. Not in public. Not so close to Tadahiro, who already suspects her.

Quietly, carefully, Hisana traces her way through the exhibits, deeper into the house. The rooms are filling with nobles and merchants. Faceless bodies, veiled by deep umber shadows, speak murmured words of praise and petty calculations.

She continues onward on her quest for one private moment. All she needs is long enough to think, to blot out the pain racking her chest.

She finds that moment in the far corner of the house. In a converted office. A thick mahogany desk fills the middle of the space, but lined against the wall are two kimono, one emerald and one citrine.

Hisana slinks around the desk. Her fingertips graze the smooth wood inlay. Its chill nips at her, and her fingers curl into the warmth of her palm.

In her other hand, she rolls the jade hairpin back and forth, absently. A reminder that she is here, tethered to reality. Otherwise, she finds herself plunged into cold waters without a compass. She is drowning, undone. Lost in a sea of shadows that threaten to swallow the room, staved off by two small flickering lamps.

With each breath, the air grows heavier, heavy like water. And like water, it fills her lungs with each draw ushering the pain of building pressure. The pressure grows with each new breath. She refuses to gasp, remembering the stories of the prostitutes who drowned themselves in the diverted river that cuts through the Pleasure Quarters.

Instead, Hisana weathers the aching pain that threatens to crush her lungs and break her heart. Wordless, she tries to push it back, distracting herself with textures and strokes that make up the feathers. Her right hand works the jade hairpin, slick with sweat. The more she chains her feelings, the more she forces herself to focus on the lines and color of the emerald kimono, the more the pressure in her chest abates until she can inhale without shuddering.

She thinks she has it all mastered when she feels the warmth of a presence that should not be. Her eyes squeeze shut, and she braces for another storm, another deluge, another drowning.

The heat of his hand stings her. She has gone cold. So cold. Tadahiro wasn't wrong to remark on her chill. His mistake was comparing her to mere frost. She is ice, sharp and burning.

And yet, as the tension in her chest releases and she glances down to find his pale hand wrapped around hers, she remembers that ice can melt.

"Lord Byakuya," his name falls from her lips with the reverence of a prayer. She hopes that hearing her voice will unravel the spell that has come over her. A fact she only realizes upon meeting his stare. Her lips part, but she hesitates.

She wants to compliment him on his kimono, a lovely shade of cucumber green. Just like the one in which she wrapped him when he came to her drenched from the rains.

She wants to say something about the exhibits. Or the weather. Or the generosity of the Konoe for sharing their collection. She wants to grasp for some meaningless triviality.

But, she can't. Her heart simply won't let her. It forces her to be direct, cruel even. The words that come next hurt.

"She's lovely."

He jerks his head up in reply. The action is slight, almost imperceptible. His brows knit together. She can tell he wants to say something to ease her mind, but there isn't anything to say. There are no actions he can take. There is nothing. Nothing can stop the flow of tradition, of custom, of duty, of expectation.

Hisana tucks her head down and smiles somberly to herself. His hand squeezes hers. She traces the white outline of his knuckles with her thumb and nods her head in agreement. "I know," she murmurs, lips feeling weak against the thick humid air.

Diffidently, she lifts her gaze. Their eyes meet, and, in an instant, she realizes he knew. He knew all along how this would end. Why he kept a safe distance. Why he needed his restraint.

"You knew, though." The words tumble out of her mouth, like cherry blossoms falling from their branches. "You knew before I did." She takes a small step back. "That's why—"

He knew that one kiss was never going to be enough. She was so arrogant when she stole his affection. So convinced she wouldn't succumb.

She had been so wrong.

"I did," he says.

His words hit her after. After he closes the distance. After the sensation of his hands, strong and calloused, grip her shoulders. After he presses his lips to hers.

 _Hard. Searchingly_. _Wanting._

One kiss is never enough.

And desire, once nursed, is hard to sate.

It is too late, she thinks, and, silently, matching his intensity, she wonders if maybe certain heartbreak is worth the price of desire. Her eyes slip shut. The fear. The gasping for air. The crushing pressure. It all disappears. If only for a moment. There is bliss.

The jade hairpin falls from her fingers as her palms take comfort in the silken smoothness of his kimono. Her fingers sink into the expanse of his shoulders. Nails curling into the hot flesh beneath.

The world around them feels like it is receding, like waves pulling into the ocean. All she can smell is cherry blossoms; the thick scent of incense melts away. All she can hear is the sweet susurrus of rustling silk against skin, against silk, against her hands, replacing the deep twang of the koto. All she can see is him as the darkness swallows them whole.

This is wrong. Terribly wrong. She tries to pull away, but he catches her with his mouth, his lips stopping any protest she might have. Even when her fingers tangle and knot in the silken strands of his hair, she cannot force herself away.

This is reckless. Unspeakably stupid. All it would take would be someone to slide the door open and find them. What would they do, what could they say if found?

"Lord Byakuya," she manages to gasp out between kisses, "this is," her brain temporarily short-circuits once he presses his lips against the throbbing pulse in her throat.

 _Futile_ , is the only word that sears its way into her brain. She wants—no needs—to extricate herself from him, but she can't summon the power to do so.

He is slow to respond, but he stops. He pulls back, eyes latched onto hers. He looks astonished, as if this was not his plan when entering the room, but Hisana does not miss the hunger in his eyes. He wants her, a realization that shocks the senses.

"You don't want this," uncertainty drags the words out of him.

Hisana cups his face with both hands. "This is all I want," she replies, "but—"

Before she can finish, the skidding of wood being drawn back forces them apart. A long, rectangular patch of light stretches over them followed by a soft feminine call, "Lord Kuchiki?"

Hisana has never heard Lady Suiko's voice before, but she knows that it is Lady Suiko who stands silhouetted before the room's threshold. Briefly, Hisana wonders if the lady is mortified at what she finds.

 _I can work with mortification_ , Hisana assures herself. _I just need to change the framing of her assumption._

Hisana leans down, eyes searching the tatami mat. "Lord Kuchiki, here is the hairpin!" she announces loudly, bending down to pluck the jade dragonfly comb that slipped from her hand during their kiss. "It's beautiful," she declares before pressing it into his hand. Then, she turns to Lady Suiko and brandishes the most charming smile she can spare.

"This must be your lovely fiancée," Hisana continues, gazing up at Byakuya.

He stares at her. Eyes wide. Lips parted. He appears ready to protest her sudden about-face, but he stops short.

Without missing another beat, Hisana turns to Lady Suiko, who has drifted closer, concern etched into her face. "Lord Kuchiki enlisted me to find a misplaced pin," she explains, voice bright and cheery.

Hisana glances back to Byakuya. "I think she'll love it, milord." If they had been standing closer, she would have driven her elbow into his side to urge him to his betrothed.

Byakuya stares at Hisana, flabbergasted, as if he cannot believe that she is asking him to give her jade hairpin to Lady Suiko. His brows knit together, but, before he can find something to say, Lady Suiko has already closed the distance between them. Her large green eyes are on the pin, eying its quality.

"Is this for me, milord?" she asks, voice a breathless whisper.

Before Byakuya can answer, Lady Suiko has the hairpin between her fingers. Carefully, she probes it, scrutinizing its every angle for quality. "It's magnificent, Lord Kuchiki. It will complement my eyes." She then whirls around, her back facing him. There is an expectation there, unspoken but felt all the same. "Please place it my hair, milord," she chirps, handing him the pin over her shoulder.

Byakuya takes the jade and gives Hisana a long, concerned look.

"Yes," Hisana declares, clapping her hands together, a smile plastered so tightly on her face that her eyes blink closed. "It will look spectacular."

He shuts his eyes, a line creasing his brows.

Just as sure as he plunges the metal prongs into Lady Suiko's thick black tresses, Hisana feels the prick of metal through her heart. "Lovely," she manages on a shaky breath.

Happily, Lady Suiko pivots on her heels and stares lovingly into her betrothed's face before giving Hisana a long onceover. "Thank you so much for helping Lord Kuchiki. What is your name?"

Hisana smiles gently. "Hisana."

"Hisana," Lady Suiko echoes, her lips quivering, as if the name tastes particularly bitter. "The courtesan?" The woman's eyes widen slightly.

"Not tonight," Hisana assures her. "Just a guest." She gives the lady a low bow before addressing Byakuya. "Lord Kuchiki, it was a pleasure." Again, she bows reverently before crossing the expanse of the room to the hallway.

Every retreating step feels more painful than the last.

Where she goes, she knows she will regret. Duty, however, ties her gut in knots. It pulls her, like a chain forged from the heaviest steel, to the grooms' display, where a guard awaits her, as if by divine happenstance.

He leads her into the room and flings the door back, allowing her entry. The moment she crosses the threshold, she hears the clattering of wood careening into wood. The door is shut behind her. A painting of summer, the deepest verdant greens and crystalline blue lakes, adorn the screens around this new room. For a moment, Hisana shifts uncomfortably in her silks, imagining the heat of high noon.

Turning her attention to the center of the room, she finds three more kimono. Women's kimono. These aren't bridal, though. They are extravagant works of art, each a different style. The one on the far left is a sea-glass blue. Heavy embroidery of a seascape with hints of pink skies glowing over a clear sea. Seagulls in flight fly toward the horizon.

The middle kimono is a winterscape. The silk is blacker than ebony. White snow drifts and banks across the back of the fabric. Doves gather and cuddle together at the hems. Hisana draws closer to this dress. Her fingers tracing the flakes of snow. It looks almost real. "Beautiful," she murmurs under her breath.

Her gaze then skitters to the last kimono. It is spring. Pale pink sakura blossoms and watery white plum blossoms bloom off skeletal branches and scatter on an unseen breeze. A faint grin thins her lips, but, before she can examine the kimono more thoroughly, the door draws back to reveal Lord Tadahiro. He stands wearing a midnight-blue kimono and dark gray hakama. His keen eyes are on her, brightly lit by the nearby lanterns, and he offers her a boyish grin.

"You remembered," he murmurs, descending the few steps into the sunken room, where Hisana stands.

"Milord makes few requests. It would be ungracious to ignore one of them." This much isn't a feign. Tadahiro makes few _direct_ requests. Mind-reading is a required skill in discerning his wants.

"Do you like it?" he asks, nodding in the direction of the springtime kimono.

Hisana takes a hesitant step toward the last kimono. Her heart wavers as she realizes its meaning. If she read the wedding displays correctly, the far right kimono represented the current leader of the Konoe, with the far right groomswear belonging to him, and the far right bridal kimono belonging to his wife.

These kimono must have belonged to the clan leaders' oiran.

Her heart stops. A surge of nausea claws up from her belly, and dizziness sets her back a pace. "No," she murmurs, realizing that the springtime kimono is hers.

Her brows knit together, and, questioningly, she searches Tadahiro. Why would he choose this one? Was there a hidden meaning for her to unravel? Another riddle to solve?

He chuckles at her fluster. "Does the lady object?" he asks, cocking a disbelieving brow.

"It's just," she says, careful with each word, afraid they might shatter in the air, "I don't understand."

"Don't play coy." Without invitation or consent, his hands are working the knots of her obi.

Hisana's fingers curl around his, and she shakes her head. "I don't—"

"Your fondness for cherry blossoms," he says calmly into her ear, "that's why I thought you would like it." There is an edge to his words, one that threatens to slice her if she continues to struggle against his wishes.

"I don't think you understand," she protests, trying to wriggle free, but his arms are stronger than she expects, and his fingers are nimble.

"Of course, I understand." With a snap of his wrist, her obi, its padding, and its cord have fallen to the floor. The heavy layers of silk fall loose, unrestrained by the belt.

Hisana goes still, stiff and tense, the moment she feels his fingers begin to work on another knot to her robes. "I prefer this kimono," she whispers.

A dark chuckle escapes him. "A fine mendacity, dear Hisana. But that isn't the truth written in red in your heart, is it?"

His fingers move onto the next tie, expertly, like has been practicing this moment for years.

"I don't understand."

"Oh, that's an even bigger lie." Roughly, he shoves her toward a sliver of mirror that stands to the side of the room. His fingers circle her chin, forcing her to stare into their reflections. His arms are tangled around her, and she wears an expression of misery. Her brows are furrowed, lines crease her forehead, and her eyes meet his, pleading and desperate.

He has his fox, she realizes.

Kissing Byakuya Kuchiki was the dumbest mistake she ever made.

"What don't you understand, Hisana?" He pins her with a glare that could melt bone.

She wipes her face clean. But, there is a tightness in the line of her lips. A flicker in her eyes. He sees them just as plainly as she does, and he smirks.

"Tell me, _Hisana_ ," he begins, working on the last tie of her silks, "why was Lady Suiko wearing my jade dragonfly pin in her hair tonight?" The words as jagged as any knife tear through her, and he yanks the warm silk away, exposing her, pale naked flesh.

Helplessly, Hisana stares into his reflection. "I thought," she begins, unsure where to start this prevarication, "I thought it would let you know how I felt."

"How you _felt_?" he asks, voice a tangle of frustration and anger, wheeling her to face him. " _Felt_ about what?"

"About you. About them. About Lord Kuchi—" her voice breaks, but she lifts her chin. A wall of ice even when words fail her.

"I don't care about them," she begins anew, "You showed me, tonight, that you thought I did. But, I wanted to prove to you that I didn't. That I could be charitable to Lady Suiko because I have no true affection for Lord Kuchiki. I gave her the dragonfly hairpin so you'd know-" She wants to continue, to string as many words together and hope that something sticks, but she realizes that she has said enough.

He stares at her. Brow heavy. Lips pulled in a taut line. A long breath leaks from his lips, and his gaze floats above her, fixed somewhere on the wall behind her. Regret—or maybe contrition—hardens his jaw, and his eyes shut for a fleeting moment. "I see," he says, eyes gazing into hers, deepening their shared stare. "I am a fool."

Her lips part, ready for whatever argument it will take to convince him of whatever he needs convincing of.

He cups the sides of her face with his hands. They are softer, smaller, than the last man who held her. But, she knows they are far more dangerous, prone to wild caprice. "Standing before me naked, I expected to debase you. I wanted you to gravel. To burn for me," he says, eyes tracing the bow of her lips. "But, I am the one debased tonight." His thumbs lightly stroke the curvature of her cheekbone.

"A queen is not always born; some are made," he says the words softly, slowly.

Hisana presses her head to his, hoping she has pacified his wrath in some way.

"Will you burn for me?" he asks, lips hovering close to her own. His breath goes ragged, unlike him.

Hisana's hands run up his arms to the swell of his shoulders. Her touch is featherlight, relishing the warmth of his blue silk, but refusing the heat of the man underneath. "I don't think you want me to burn for you, Lord Konoe."

His brows lift at this.

"If I'm reduced to ashes, you'll be forced to find another."

His eyes close. She thinks he understands her meaning: He wants the chase; not the capture. "We can burn together," he adds, nipping lightly at her throat.

"Milord is too resilient to succumb to mere flame."

He lets out a small chuckle at this. Dark and throaty. Hisana knows this laugh. He disagrees with her, but it's what he wants to believe about himself, what he wishes were true, so he won't correct her.

"Then," he says, pulling back enough to see her face, "kiss me like you kissed Byakuya tonight."

Hisana doesn't protest. She doesn't deny it. Instead, she takes his face in her hands, and she kisses him hard and fast.

With her eyes closed, it is almost too easy to pretend that the man in her arms is the man she wants.


End file.
